Of Time Space and Mysteries
by SherlockedAngelofHyrule
Summary: They met when Sherlock was young, but then he left and never came back, until he did. Things don't seem to add up now though. It was a chance meeting, but one of mystery. Between traveling the universe, and saving worlds, there's something hidden lurking beneath the surface. Season 3-4 rewrite with Sherlock. Eventual Ten/Sherlock.
1. Chapt 1: Blue Boxes and Toy Pirate Ships

**_AN:_** _Hello! This is a new fic that I'm dong, for those wondering, TKC is currently on a preeminent hiatus until further notice. I probably won't be continuing it, but I might go back to it eventually. With Breaking Point, I won't be adding on to it. It came out perfect, and I fear that if it continue it, it won't live up to the standards of the first chapter._

 _Anyways, about this story. It's fairly straightforward, this is a season 3-4 rewrite of Doctor Who, with Sherlock added into the mix. This will follow cannon as much as possible. There will be differences, obviously, that you will see, and as a note of warning, this is a DoctorLock(Pairing: DoctorxSherlock) fic. Please don't let that turn you away, as it will probably not be in the fic much until later, around season four, if everything works out._

 _Also, Shoutout to the wonderful **Shadows Concealed in Darkness** , who helped me plan out this for the most part. You're amazing. Go check her out!_

 _As for my update schedule, I'm hoping once a week, maybe twice a week, but I'm not to sure. I'm currently in college, and it's kicking my butt at the moment. Lol._

 _This chapter is kind of a prologue, and takes place right after The Doctor says goodbye to Rose, but before Donna enters the TARDIS. This is also with a young Sherlock, so he might be a bit OOC for this chapter, but he is a child, and this is technically AU, so I say it's allowed somewhat._

* * *

 ** _Chapter 1- Blue Boxes and Toy Pirate Ships_**

Sherlock Holmes was a boy with an imagination. He loved to dream up complex worlds and stories. Complex characters and various scenarios. Mycroft would always pick on him because of it. He didn't exactly care. Mycroft could piss off.

Currently, the boy was sitting in the middle of his room, the merger age of nine, with a mass of curly black hair and a pale complexion. His small hands fiddled with a pirate ship, his eyes narrowed in annoyance as he struggled to get the small pirate people to stand up properly. He would never understand why the manufacturers would make them so difficult to stand up in the large ship. He huffed in frustration, fingers curling around one man, dressed in a thick black coat and pointy hat that Sherlock thought looked very cool. He pursed his lips, narrowing his cool grey eyes in concentration. He shifted, trying to stand the man up at the wooden wheel, humming softly to himself so Mycroft wouldn't hear him.

It was late, and he knew he should be in bed, curled up in his covers, asleep. The human mind especially that of a child's, needed at least eight to ten hours if not more. Sherlock didn't care. He didn't need sleep. He had told Mycroft that, but regardless, the older boy had sent him off to bed. He scowled at the thought of the older boy and sat back on his bottom, crossing his legs as he fiddled with another crew member. He didn't need sleep! He honestly didn't. The boy stood up, his bare feet slipping carefully along the carpet of his room as he tried to glance at the clock, watching the clock turn to eleven. He huffed, turning around to glance at his pirate ship, feeling bored. He was about to start putting the ship away, fingers reaching for the men that he had placed on the ship when he heard this groaning-or was it wheezing?-sound. He glanced up, dropping one of the plastic men. He must have imagined it. Nothing he knew would ever make such a noise. He frowned, his curiosity peaked as he glanced up. At the age of nine, Sherlock knew a lot of things. He was a very smart boy, smarter than anyone in the world. (Yes that included Mycroft.)

He reached for the flashlight, ready to investigate the wheezing as he shifted to the door of his bedroom. Carefully, he moved to open the door, pushing it open bit by bit, opening it wouldn't creak. He breathed out a sigh, squeezing through the door and moving to scurry down the hall, trying to be as quiet as possible. His heart pounded as he made his way to the back door, slipping his feet on the wooden flooring. He peered around, holding the flashlight to his chest, thumbing the switch and clicking it up, the light illuminating his face. He reached up, opening the sliding door to the backyard and stepping out. Sherlock shivered slightly at the cold grass brushing his bare feet as he stepped into the backyard. He shut the door behind him, slowly moving to shine the light around him. The yard was empty of trees save for a view bushes or trees. He shined the flashlight around, carefully making his way into the yard, his flashlight landing on the only anomaly in the yard. A sixty by sixty foot 1960s blue telephone box. He frowned, confused, because there was no possible way it could be there. No physical, logical possible way it could just appear in his backyard.

Curiosity got the best of him though, and he approached the blue box, hesitating and reaching out to touch the blue wood. It was cold, but defiantly solid and there, so there was no possible way for this to be a part of his imagination. He frowned, wondering if it was a dream, and pinched his arm through the cotton fabric of his white and grey silk pajamas. He winched at the pain, and nodded to himself. Not a dream then. He moved to look around, hoping to spot something-or possibly someone-that could have put the blue box there. Finding nothing as he peered around the blue police box, he scratched his head, scowling. _'It's in very good condition. It looks brand new.'_ He deducted, bending down to look at the grass around it, hoping to find some footprints of people who could have possibly carried it there, or drag marks in the dirt. Finding none, he scowled, kicking the blue box in frustration, causing the box to vibrate and release a low humming sound almost like a whine of annoyance. Sherlock scowled, glaring up at the box, lips pursed. He was about to say something to the box when the door shot open, causing Sherlock to stumble back. The young boy blinked, landing in the grass below him, catching himself with his hands as a man stepped out. He was tall, maybe around 6 feet, if a bit taller. Sherlock shifted, studying the man, trying to deduce him. He was dressed formally, brown and blue pinstriped suit with a collared shirt underneath and a tie-save for the converses-with a trench coat over top. He had wild brown hair, with brown eyes that looked much too old for his face, much too sad also. He stood slightly hunched over, as if he had too much on his shoulders. Sherlock frowned, shifting back slightly as the man looked down. The thin man smiled widely, the wide grin reaching his eyes. His too old, too wise, too sad, brown eyes.

"Well hello there!" He said cheerily, clearly British, which admittedly surprised Sherlock. A man who popped out of a 1960s police box was British. He shifted, staring distrustfully at the man's hand, which he had offered to help him up. After a brief moment, Sherlock decided he couldn't be too bad, and took the man's hand. The taller man pulled him up. "Sorry for startling you. Truly didn't mean it." He said, looking around with a frown of what Sherlock assumed was confusion. "What year is it? And where am I?" He asked, and Sherlock scowled, furrowing is brows. Well that was an odd question. Surely he would know.

"It's 1987." He answered, pulling his hand away quickly, shifting, as the man hummed with a nod. He glanced around, and Sherlock answered his second question. "And you're in my backyard. I heard a noise and came to investigate." He said, and this got the man's attention, a grin curling at his lips.

"Good, that's splendid! I love a child's curiosity." He said joyfully, his voice a bit loud, and Sherlock quickly shushed him, waving frantically with one hand. The man looked apologetic, seeming to realize it was late at night. "Right, sorry, I'm the Doctor. And you are?" He grinned, bending down to get at eye level with Sherlock. The boy scowled.

"Doctor who?" He asked, but he continued on before the 'Doctor' could explained. "A self-proclaimed title." He muttered in realization. A flicker of surprise in the older man's eyes, his lips parted in a small 'o' shape. Sherlock ignored it, continuing on and ignoring the question the Doctor had asked. "You don't make any sense, Doctor. You're probably around mid-twenties, maybe thirties, but your eyes, they're older." Sherlock scowled, reaching out to poke at the man's cheek to make sure he was real. "Too old, and sad... And it's Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes." He continued, answering the man's question with a slight sniff of pride. The Doctor lightly brushed Sherlock's hand away, clearing his throat and straightening.

"Right then, where are your parents, Sherlock Holmes? Shouldn't you be in bed?" The Doctor asked, and Sherlock scowled, crossing his arms.

"They're asleep, and yes, probably." He muttered, and this caused the man to laugh, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair. Sherlock ducked away, moving away from the man with a scowl. "Why do you have a blue box? Where did you get it? It's from the 1960s, and you most certainly were not making a call." He rattled off, speaking before the Doctor could answer. "Plus how did you get it there? There's no footprints around the area, so you couldn't have carried it, plus it's much too big for you to carry alone." He asked, trying to see around the Doctor and at the blue box. "There also aren't any telephone wires around here, so you couldn't possibly be making a call." He continued rapidly, and this drew a chuckle from the Doctor.

"You're a very bright boy, you know that?" He grinned cheerfully, straightening up. Sherlock shrugged, still studying the blue box.

"People normally tell me to piss off." He said with a slight smirk curling at his lips. The Doctor laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Well that's not nice of them!" He chuckled, glancing around him. "Do you, uhm, mind if I come in for a bit? I'm sort of… I need a distraction." The Doctor asked after a brief pause, fiddling with his earlobe, tugging on it slightly. _'A nervous, uneasy habit.'_ Sherlock thought dimly, before he gave a slight nod.

"Sure, but we have to be quiet, my brother's asleep and he would be mad if I disturbed his beauty sleep." He said with a chuckle of his own, reaching for the Doctor's hand, tugging him towards the door. He flicked the flashlight off, moving to such the door quietly behind them. He motioned for the Doctor to follow, holding a finger to his lips. The man grinned, a wide goofy grin as he nodded and followed the young boy down the hall to a door. Quietly, Sherlock stepped into the room, slipping through the crack of the door. The Doctor followed him in, moving to shut the door silently behind him so they couldn't be heard as easily. The Doctor glanced around him, studying the room. It was fairly large, a bit cluttered, but he'd defiantly been in worst. He was worst then this boy. He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw a pirate ship that Sherlock was fiddling with.

"Do you like pirates?" He asked, moving to sit down next to the boy, his voice a hushed whisper. Sherlock glanced up, intellectual grey eyes meeting his own brown ones.

"Yes, I thought that'd be obvious." He mumbled, reaching for a plastic figure of one of the pirates, fiddling with it.

"Oh it is," the Doctor grinned, leaning back, stretching out his legs and crossing them at his ankles. "You know, I was on John Smith's ship that headed to America. Brilliant man, that John." He laughed softly, his face wistful. Sherlock scowled, making a face of confusion.

"That's impossible." He said bluntly, dropping the figure, now disinterested in the ship.

"Oh don't say impossible! Nothing's impossible! Well…" He said, scratching his ear with a grimace as he thought of it. "I suppose there are impossible things." He shrugged, and Sherlock shifted staring at the man in interest.

"You're strange, who are you?" Sherlock cut in. The Doctor shifted, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I told you, I'm the Doctor." He answered, seeming a bit uncomfortable with the question. "Just the Doctor." He scratched his sideburn, pursing his lips slightly. Sherlock frowned, but nodded, not pushing the subject any further. He turned to look back at the ship, fiddling with it.

"Okay, Doctor, what's with the blue box? You never answered me that." Sherlock shot back, and the man grinned proudly, straightening up slightly.

"She's my ship. Brilliant ship." He said, leaning close as if to share a secret, his brown eyes wide with excitement. Sherlock looked at him, leaning in to humor the man. "She's called the TARDIS, Time and Relative Dimension in Space." He rambled, and Sherlock tipped his head, piecing together some of the information.

"You have a spaceship?" He asked in mild wonder. Before the Doctor could answer, he continued. "You're an alien." He said bluntly, his voice suddenly a bit wary. The young boy shifted slightly, inching back from the man.

"Yes, I am, alright with that?" He answered, grinning in what he hoped to be nonthreatening way. Sherlock glanced him over, thinking, before nodding just slightly.

"You look human." He mumbled, looking down at the figure he had dropped, picking it up quietly. The Doctor scoffed, looking mildly offended.

"No, you look Time Lord." He shot back with ease. Sherlock looked up, brows furrowing slightly in thought. "We came first." He added with a look of faint superiority, but his grin was somewhat teasing.

"Time Lord, that's what you are." Sherlock said. He was slowly piecing together information, trying to learn as much as possible. "So, you can control time?" He asked, tipping his head. The Doctor coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat slightly as he looked away. He scratched the back of his head.

"No, I-I can't control time. I'm a time traveler." He mumbled awkwardly, the mood quickly tensing. Silence fell over the two, and Sherlock awkwardly moved to put the people on the ship, shifting to pick up the large ship, grunting slightly under the weight. The doctor quickly stood, moving to help the young boy.

"Careful." He said gently, the somber mood dispersing as he moved to help him put the ship up on the small shelf. "Wouldn't want to drop it." He said with a grin and a slight wink. Sherlock nodded, managing to smile back. "So, Sherlock, what about you?" He asked after a beat. Sherlock looked up, confused as he plopped down the bed, the Time Lord sitting beside him.

"What about me?" He asked, tipping his head. "I'm just an ordinary boy." He said, and the Doctor frowned.

"Oh I don't believe that. No one's ordinary." He said with a huff and a wave of a hand as he thought of a brilliant pink and yellow human who had stolen his heart. His face fell slightly, before he shook his head sharply. "You humans are extraordinary beings. So resilient." He said, watching him quietly. Sherlock hummed slightly, nodding his head. There was a brief pause, before The Doctor straightened up. "You look tired." He said, noting the boy's slowly dropping shoulders. Sherlock scowled, fighting a yawn. The Doctor grinned widely, standing and moving to push the boy down onto the bed. "I'll tell you a story. A bed time story. I love bed time stories." He grinned, pulling the covers over the boy.

Sherlock reluctantly allowed this, shifting to get comfortable. The boy looked hesitant.

"But if I fall asleep, you'll leave." He mumbled quietly in a tired voice. The Doctor frowned, opening his mouth to speak, but Sherlock continued before he could. "Everybody leaves eventually." He whispered, shifting a bit. The Doctor nodded in understanding. He knew that feeling all too well. He watched as the Doctor sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, that is correct." He said quietly, looking at the boy forlornly. "But, I'll come back, I promise. When you're older, I'll come back and I'll show you the stars, how's that sound?" He grinned, and Sherlock hesitated slightly, before nodding slowly.

"Alright." He mumbled quietly, burrowing under the covers.

"So! How 'bout that story?" The Doctor grinned, slapping his knees slightly. Sherlock nodded eagerly, and The Doctor hummed in thought, thinking on some stories he had heard as a child. He grinned, looking at Sherlock. "I have just the story." He whispered, as if sharing a secret, leaning just slightly.

* * *

The Doctor watched quietly, studying the boy now tucked away under the covers, sleeping peacefully. He had to admit, this boy was defiantly different to the normal human. He knew the universe had great plans for him. What, he didn't know exactly, he couldn't see. He scratched his head, standing carefully so not to wake the boy. He glanced around the room, studying the pirate ship, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Sherlock was a brilliant young boy, very perceptive. He could tell the he was sad, which was something many people couldn't tell. He kept his walls up very tightly, hiding so many things. He rubbed his face, looking at the boy again. He let his gaze linger for a moment before he turned away. He had to go, before anyone woke up. He cringed at the thought of running into the boy's parents, and even more so his brother. From the sounds of it, Sherlock's brother was rather protective. Or stern. Not much different. He quickly, yet quietly made his way to the back door, sliding it open and slipping through.

The Time Lord sighed, smiling at the sight of his beautiful blue box. He lightly patted the wood, feeling her hum softly under his hand. He quietly unlocked the door, stepping inside and shutting it. The Doctor hummed, rubbing his face quietly, walking up to the console. "Well old girl," he said with a smile. "Where to now?" He asked quietly, stepping up to the console. He felt a soft hum vibrate through the room, humming in his head. He pushed a few buttons, his fingers curling around the lever for it dematerialize. He wasn't sure where they would go, maybe just wander through the Time Vortex until he figured it out. He pulled it quickly, causing the ship to lurch. The Doctor stumbled, catching himself on the console. He sighed, leaning against the console as the ship stopped it's raddling. He straightened, rubbing his face when he caught sight of a woman standing in a white gown, her hair was a ginger red color (one that he felt rather envious of). Confusion danced on his face as the woman turned.

"What?" He said, confused, face twisting in confusion. So much for a relaxing trip to sort out his thoughts.


	2. Chapt 2: Reality's Lies and Drug Highs

**_AN: Hey guys, second chapter is up, Sherlock and the Doctor meet again, but there's something up with Sherlock, and needless to say he's not happy about the circumstances._**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 2: Reality's Lies and Drug Highs_**

The Doctor mumbled softly to himself, rubbing the back of his head as he stepped out of the TARDIS. "Why London? Always London." He muttered, combing a hand through his messy brown hair. He wasn't sure why he was here, something about an alien rooming the streets looking for something. He rubbed his eyes, fighting back a moan at how long this would take. If Rose was here….

No. Stop that. She was gone, safe, with her mother. No use dwelling on it.

He shook his head, stepping away from the blue box and glancing around. "If I was an alien creature-which I am, mind you-lost in London streets without and mate and scared and lost-which I'm not-where would I go?" He muttered to himself, searching his pockets for his detector. "Now where-Aha!" He said cheerfully, pulling out said device, cradling it in his hands as he fiddled with the buttons. It was small, shaped like a 'Y' and cradled easily in his hand. He did a quick circle, hoping to pick up some sort of trace of alien. He grinned, hearing the sharp ding of the device and started that way.

The Doctor hummed softly, traversing the streets quickly, waiting for the next ding of the device as he came to an alleyway. He scowled, letting out a sound of annoyance as he slapped the device roughly. "Work, come on." He mumbled in annoyance, glaring at the device as it shuttered and made a feeble dinging sound that was not very helpful. He groaned inwardly, shoving it back in his pocket and glancing around. So much for getting this done quickly. "Well, old fashioned way then. Hello? Any alien lifeforms out there?" He called in a cheery voice, wandering down the alley. "My name's the Doctor, here to help!" He said, looking around. The alleyway was rather dank, and smelt pretty bad, if he were honest. He glanced around, twitching his nose and listening intently. He tilted his head, hearing the sound of the muttered, somewhat slurred voice. He frowned, maybe someone was drunk and passed out in the alley? Rather early for that, he mused, but who was he to judge someone's actions?

He shook his head, heading over to the sound. "Hello? Are you alright?" He asked, turning the corner to see a man, curly, unruly black hair, pale skin, and a fairly long, thin frame, sprawled against the wall. The Doctor frowned, even more concerned when this man bared a resemblance to Sherlock, except older. "Sherlock?" He tried, hesitant, because to him, this man had been a nine year old boy but maybe a few moments ago to him.

* * *

Sherlock was pretty sure he was hallucinating, it was the only logical explanation to why he would be here now. Because the Doctor had been just a fairy tale, another one of his made up stories told to get on Mycroft's nerves. (Which they had, he thought smugly.) Sherlock blinked a few times, trying to rid himself of the image of his 'friend'. He squeezed his eyes shut, his head spinning form the high. Maybe he'd done too much this time, maybe he'd finally die. He didn't know, but he was angry, furious, that his 'friend' would show his face after so long. Maybe that was the reason. He was dying. "Go away." He mumbled, his tone slurred, his voice thick and heavy. He felt sweaty, cold, and clammy. Natural side effects of the taking a cocaine, or getting high period. Or so he'd found out. Were hallucinations one of them? Probably. He drew in a breath, staring at the man, with his stupid trench coat, and pinstripes. "What're you even doing here?" He gritted, shifting as he tried to avoid the holes burning into his skull form the man's glare. "Well?" He spat, turning his furious, dazed eyes to look at the man when he didn't speak. This wasn't like him, the Doctor had been a very cheery, talkative man, so much so that Sherlock had to shush him to avoid waking his parents when they first met.

"Sherlock, are you…" The Doctor started, and Sherlock curled his lip slightly. His high fueling his anger. He pushed himself up, staggering as the world spun, nearly falling back on his backside when someone caught him.

"Don't touch me." He muttered, not one to raise his voice often, and shrugged the pair of surprisingly solid hands off his body, glaring at the man as he flinched back. "And, yes, I am, very observant." He muttered bitterly, placing a hand on the wall to avoid stagger again. There was an awkward pause, neither of them speaking. Sherlock watched through narrowed eyes, as the Doctor worked his mouth to speak, but was rendered speechless. Had he not been so high and furious, then he'd be chuckling. However, he was furious, and high, and he hadn't had a case in weeks because of getting high, and that wasn't the best combination. "You left me. You left me, promise to be back, and you never did." He spat, his tone angry and furious. He knew it was somewhat illogical, because the Doctor had promised to come back when he was older. Well he was older now, and now the Doctor was back. But he wasn't, because he was hallucination, made to trick him and tease him. So he let his anger fuel his words.

"Well, I'm back now, but Sherlock…." The Doctor started, trailing off. Sherlock shook his head, breathing harshly as he glowered at the Doctor. "Let me get you home. Please." The Doctor pleaded, looking at him with his big brown eyes. Sherlock curled his lip, debating, because he was hallucination. Then again, he could touch him, some weird hallucination.

"Fine." He decided, looking away in anger as the Doctor brightened just slightly. He refused to look at the man as he walked over, gently moving to support him. They were near the same height, so it wasn't too difficult. "If you're going to lecture me then save it, I hear enough of it form Mycroft and Lestrade." He grumbled as they made their way out of the alley. He felt the Doctor shift, obviously uncomfortable, but there was a tension in his back and shoulders that told Sherlock that he was angry.

"I won't lecture you," the Doctor said, his tone quiet, calm, but there was furious anger under it. "But you have to get yourself clean. You have to get some help." He breathed out, and Sherlock glanced at him finally, taking in the man's expression and face. He didn't look a day older, then again, he was alien.

"I think this counts as a lecture." He grumbled, huffing. "Here." He said, nodding to the door of his apartment complex. He quietly moved, fumbling for his keys while the Doctor stepped back. After a few moments of fumbling, the Doctor moved to unlock the door with Sonic. Sherlock glanced up, hearing the sharp click, but before he could ask what happened, the Doctor pushed the door open and shoved him inside, walking in behind him and shutting the door. "Why now, of all times?" Sherlock asked finally, because he needed to know why. He collapsed onto the couch, his eyelids feeling heavy, watching as the Doctor helped him shrug off his coat and suit jacket. There was a long pause, before the Doctor finally spoke, hanging up the items of clothing as he searched for a chair.

"I, uhm…" He started, but the Doctor wasn't too sure what to say. If he was honest, said that he hadn't been expecting to run into Sherlock, that'd make the man even more furious. He tugged on his earlobe, making a small noise of discomfort as he sat in the chair. "I caught a signal, from my ship, the TARDIS, that there were aliens here." He said honestly. Sherlock made a noise, and the Doctor wasn't sure if he was angry or just annoyed. "But, I'm not going to let you distract me." He said harshly, his eyes turning form mildly guilty to furious in a split second. Sherlock twitched at the sudden mood change, looking surprised as he met the Doctor's gaze unflinchingly. The Doctor leaned forward, fixing the man with a glare. "How old are you, Sherlock? Eighteen?" He demanded, and Sherlock shifted just slightly under the fury of the Time Lord's eyes. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to your body?" He said, sucking in a breath to try to calm himself. Getting angry wouldn't help. The Doctor exhaled, rubbing his face tiredly as he stood up, heading to the kitchen. "I'm going to make some tea, help you get down from this high." He mumbled. "But Sherlock…. You have to get clean." He said, and Sherlock scowled, not caring if he wasn't childish.

"So I should take advice form a man who can't keep his own promises?" He called as the Doctor headed to the kitchen. The Doctor winched, glancing around the cluttered, messy kitchen. (Was that a pile of human fingernails?) He glanced at the mess briefly before searching the cabinets for tea. The Doctor exhaled, pulling out some tea leaves and two mugs.

"I had meant to come back every year, on the same day." He admitted, ignoring the snort of disbelief from Sherlock. "But, things happened, and I ended up here." He called as he added leaves to the hot water, pouring it into the two mugs. He carefully picked them up, carrying them back to the room, where Sherlock was eyeing him carefully. The Doctor handed him a mug, taking a seat in the chair. "Honest, I truly met to come back each year, check on how you were doing, but…" He rubbed his face with his free hand, looking mildly guilty before he took a sip of the tea. The Time Lord shook his head slightly.

"Never mind that." He said, looking at Sherlock. "You need to get rid of the drugs. Do you understand me? Because I can't have a druggie on the TARDIS, she won't like that at all." He said, his tone firm. He knew that throwing in the threat of not allowing Sherlock to travel with him. Sherlock scowled, sipping quietly on his tea, thinking on the answer.

"What makes you think I even want to travel with you now?" Sherlock shot back, raising an eyebrow. His tone was angry still, but it seemed to have died down some. "I've grown up, I'm not the child who wanted to be a pirate nine years ago." He grunted, setting the mug down and folding his arms over his chest. The Doctor grinned a manic grin, his brown eyes shining with amusement.

"Because you're still curious. You humans are always curious." He breathed, watching Sherlock. The eighteen year old huffed, having to admit that the Doctor was right. He was curious. Even if it wasn't the child-like curiosity he had had as a child, he was still curious on the Doctor, and who exactly he was. "Am I right?" The Doctor asked, breaking Sherlock form his thoughts.

"Yes, you are," He mumbled finally, after a long pause. He could feel the buzz of the high leaving him, slowly leaving him drained of his energy. He set the half-finished mug down, his fingers shaking slightly. He could feel the Doctor's eyes following his carefully. His concerned brown gaze burning him. "I'm sorry." He said finally. The words felt foreign to his tongue, and he wasn't sure if it was the lasting effects of his high, or the words themselves. "For… Snapping, or whatever." He added lamely. The Doctor made a small noise, but said nothing for a while.

"I should go. There's a pair of Fobbers on the loose, and they're not the best aliens to be running amuck around London." He joked, flashing Sherlock a smile. Sherlock snorted, not sure if the man was telling the truth, but didn't push the subject. "Nasty things they are. They're typically pretty harmless if they're not provoked though." He stood up, taking the mugs and tossing them in the sink before turning to Sherlock. "I'll come back, later, not sure when, to uh, check on you. Sherlock, I highly suggest you look into getting help. I'm a doctor, well… I'm the Doctor, but the same principles apply." He rubbed his hair, musing it even further.

"Why should I trust you? How do I know you're going to come back?" He asked, his gray eyes shining with distrust. It was a viable question, and perfectly logical. The Doctor pursed his lips, watching as Sherlock tried to fight sleep, his eyes slowly growing heavy-lidded.

"How about I leave you my number, and you can call me when you're clean of all drugs?" He suggested, glancing around the cluttered room for a piece of paper and pen before Sherlock could answer. He quietly walked over to the desk, shuffling through the various papers, absently reading a few before he found a blank sheet. He picked up a pen, tugging the top off and scribbling the number to the TARDIS on it with the Doctor scrawled on the bottom. He turned back to Sherlock, finding the man sprawled out on the couch, out cold.

The Doctor chuckled slightly, carefully heading over and setting the paper down where Sherlock would find it. He smiled a bit to himself, thinking back on the last time they met, Sherlock had been asleep when he left then as well. He glanced around, finding a ratty quilt folded on a green leather chair. He picked up the thick fabric, carrying it over to the young man and tossing it over him. He smoothed it out carefully, glancing at the man. The Doctor rubbed his head, checking to make sure he had everything and that everything was in order. He nodded to himself, heading out quietly as his fingers brushed the doorknob as he shut it silently. The Doctor hummed a bit as he left the building. He turned, memorizing the door and street.

"221B. Huh." He chuckled, glancing around the area. "Alright, back to chasing aliens." He grinned, searching for his timey wimey detector. "Where are you guys, I know London is a nice place, but you can't stay here." He said to himself, feeling a stab of loneliness in his hearts. He really needed to find a companion. Sherlock would be a brilliant choice, but he just couldn't have a druggie on the TARDIS. The old girl hated drugs, as did he. He shook his head, glancing around listening for the ding. He grumbled, slapping it when it didn't work, only for it shoot out sparks. He sighed, shoving it in his pocket and running off in the random direction.

He really needed to fix that thing.


End file.
